To Steal a Weeping Widow

"Charing Cross Bridge" by Claude Monet (1903), stolen 2012, never to be recovered (thief's mother is believed to have burned the painting in a fireplace along with six other works) - value unknown

Chapter Twenty-One

There were advantages to living near a metropolis.

The advantages were bright, glossy perks that could make it easy to overlook everything else if they were just shiny enough. Of course, any rock could gleam with the right tools and some of us were more equipped than others. But even as alluring as said advantages could be in the right light, it would be misleading to say there weren't a few drawbacks, too. The upsides valiantly combat the steep downsides in an ever-waging war of pros versus cons. Sure, traffic was horrible. And yes, it could be said everyone either had too much money, or none at all—but damn...

California had some good food.

If one could find the small, hole-in-the-wall places like Simon could, they'd discover it was possible to eat like a king without shelling out any big bucks. Those authentic mom-and-pop shops never disappointed. They couldn't; generational wisdom was the main ingredient. Mediocrity was left at the door, banned from the premises, and never to be seen at the humble locations.

Simon had led me down a series of streets not yet touched by the botoxed fingers of gentrification. They'd reach eventually, as the beating heart of capitalistic growth demanded, but for now restaurants like the one we sat in could afford rent. It was a good thing, too, because the place deserved a lot more than the few patrons scattered about. It certainly deserved more than to be closed or replaced with a chain. Although, if I was honest, I was selfishly glad it wasn't packed. Because we could sit in the back, cloaked by the dim aesthetic of the shop, and enjoy our food in peace. I could stabilize without prying eyes; recalibrate without inquisitive tracing of my rough edges, try to pull myself together without keen scrutiny.

Other than Simon's, of course.

"Better?"

I didn't answer at first. I was too busy carving out a sizeable chunk of guacamole with my chip. I chewed slowly, knowing I'd have to answer him when I was done. Or worse, I'd have to look at him.

The horror.

"How'd you know about this place?" I eventually asked, sullen when the chip offered no more reprieve.

"I realized we weren't too far from here," Simon said. "I used to come here all the time with my friend Reed. He used to work at Greystone, but he left before we became Riverwide."

I nodded, brushing chip crumbs off my shirt. "Right. Reed Sterling. I read about him online. I remember it said he left the company, but I thought it was strange it didn't say why."

"It's cheesy."

"Cheesy scandalous or just cheesy?"

"Just cheesy," Simon assured. "He left for love."

Then he shoved a huge bite of fish taco into his mouth. I was left staring at him; I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly.

"He gave up a CEO position for love?"

Simon swallowed and shrugged. His answer was too nonchalant. "Well, according to him, he says he left because he wants to be a lawyer one day. To be fair, he did get a great job offer in D.C., but everyone knows there was more to it. Either way, it worked out well for him. Avery moved to D.C., and he followed. He got the job, the girl, the dog. All he needs now is a picket fence and a mortgage. That'll probably take a little longer, though, you know how the housing market is."